


Avatar: The Legend of Zuko

by WildWillow



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avatar Zuko (Avatar), Gen, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, destiny hates zuko a little more than canon au, kinda follows book 1 except zuko is forced to begin his redemption arc earlier, like really bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25100158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildWillow/pseuds/WildWillow
Summary: After nearly three years of searching, Zuko had found the avatar and could finally –finally– go home. He should’ve felt happy about that.But it definitely wasn’t the little monk who’d just wrecked his ship. And if the kid didn’t do it, then the only explanation was that it must've been Zuko. And that would be ridiculous.Because if that were true, then Zuko would be the avatar.Shit.--In which Aang is still the last airbender, but he is not the avatar. Let’s be honest, destiny has always had it out for Zuko.
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 78
Kudos: 716
Collections: A:tla, AtLA <25k fics to read





	1. In which Zuko captures the avatar... sort of

**Author's Note:**

> Has this been done before? Probably. But not by me!
> 
> This is an au in which Sozin succeeded in killing the next avatar when he wiped out the air nomads. Lost in the chaos and destruction of the war, two more avatars came and passed without ever realizing their potential, and the cycle has begun again in the Fire Nation.
> 
> Apparently destiny has a sense of humor.

When Zuko was a child, he wanted nothing more than to be just like his cousin Lu Ten. 

Lu Ten, everyone was sure, would be a great Fire Lord someday. Perhaps as strong and wise as Fire Lord Sozin himself. He was a strong bender and a brilliant strategist from a very young age, and the people of the Fire Nation felt proud to call him the heir. 

But what Zuko remembered most was his smile. Lu Ten had the kind of smile that made a person feel like they were sharing a secret together. He spoke to advisors and nobles in such a way that they felt suitably honored and endeared towards the young prince, and then he would smile that private smile and make eye contact with Zuko, and Zuko would feel certain that his cousin was teasing the pompous courtesan, and that only Zuko was in on the joke. 

And then Lu Ten left to serve at his father’s side. And he didn’t come back. 

Whatever it was that made Lu Ten such a wonderful heir, Zuko didn’t have it. Talking to other nobles made him feel uncomfortable, and he hadn’t mastered the art of subtle flattery that Lu Ten seemed to naturally possess. Zuko was not a great warrior either, and was constantly struggling to match the progress of his younger sister. 

But suddenly his father was Fire Lord and Zuko was the heir just like Lu Ten had been, and he was sure that if he could show that he was just as smart and capable as his cousin had once been, his father would be proud to call him his son. 

So he didn’t rest until he’d successfully completed his katas each day, training until he was so tired that he could barely move. He tried his hardest to study the victories of his ancestors and wouldn’t eat in the evening until he could recite their strategies from memory. He held his tongue in his father’s presence and bowed to his elders and he didn’t waste his time sitting with the turtleducks anymore like some kind of soft-headed child. 

And if he stayed awake late into the night wondering where his uncle was now, or how nobody had noticed a decline in his grandfather’s health until it was too late, or if his mother was alive, or if Azula secretly missed her too, or if Lu Ten had ever felt as frightened as Zuko did – well, that was nobody’s business but his own. He would do whatever it took to make his father proud. 

That was easier said than done, in the end. 

But none of that mattered now, because Zuko had captured the avatar and he was finally – _finally_ – going home. 

For the first time in nearly three years, Zuko dared to imagine what his homecoming might look like. Would there be a procession through the city, the avatar bound and marched through the cobbled streets? Would people cheer for their prince’s triumphant return? Would his father stand on the balcony, proudly announcing his son’s victory? 

Zuko hadn’t dared to imagine the manner of his return in some time. He hadn’t dared to admit that his search might be a pointless endeavor, and fantasizing about such a future was a luxury he’d not yet earned. 

But now that future didn’t seem quite so impossible. 

He had found the avatar at last. 

And better yet, the avatar was only a child. A child whose only weapon was a staff and who could barely hold his own in a duel against Zuko. A child who actually gave himself up at the slightest hint of danger! A child who- 

A child who was escaping his ship. 

_Shit._

Zuko sprinted from his room, using a blast of fire to propel himself around the corner and up the ladder. The avatar was leaping from the edge of the navigation deck, glider already open and ready to whisk him far away, and Zuko felt a flash of blind panic. 

He couldn’t let him get away. Not now that he’d gotten so close. 

Zuko placed one foot on the rail and jumped. 

For a moment, he was sure he was too late. The boy’s glider was just beginning to rise and Zuko’s body had started to plummet. But he was just barely able to grasp the avatar’s ankle, clinging to it for all he was worth, and the added weight sent both of them tumbling to the deck in a heap of tangled limbs. Zuko felt his head make solid contact with the deck. 

Zuko let loose another burst of fire before he’d even gotten to his feet, but suddenly everything felt tilted and wobbly, like the ship was capsizing beneath his feet. The avatar stumbled back, swinging his staff wildly to deflect the attack. Zuko didn’t think he’d ever moved so fast in his life, but his firebending was sloppy and uncoordinated, his breath going shallow. 

And then suddenly they both paused, startled by the sight of… 

Well, it was, uh, _something_. In the sky. Something big and furry and coming right towards them with two children on its back. 

They’d come for the avatar. 

The avatar who, still distracted by his rescuers’ approach, was very nearly tipped into the water by Zuko’s next attack. He backed up against the railing of the deck, hastily twirling his staff to dispel Zuko’s flames. The boy peered over the edge for a moment, balking at the sight of the waves far below. But then he shifted his gaze from the rough waters to his approaching allies before coming back to rest on Zuko once again, and his nervous expression hardened with determination. 

The airbender planted his foot on the railing behind him and used it to propel himself forwards, swinging his staff in a motion similar to the uppercut of a heavy sword. The movement sliced through the air, sending a sharp blast directly at Zuko. 

Zuko leapt to the side, rolling to his feet and returning fire all in one swift move. Unprepared for the quick return, the airbender stumbled off balance as he dodged the attack, letting his staff tumble to the ground. 

That was just the advantage Zuko needed. 

He pulled in a deep breath and felt a familiar burn of the embers low in his stomach, stoking them into a roaring flame and then pushing that power outward. Firebending didn’t just come from the breath; it came from the spirit – internal made external. It was raw, and visceral, and dangerous, and Zuko knew that if he could just harness that burning passion, he could finish this fight here and now. 

He leapt forward, sweeping his leg through the air with a fierce arc of fire following in its wake. 

The avatar was unsteady. His upper body was twisted and leaned away from his opponent, and he only had one foot on the ground for balance. There was a flash of fear in his eyes as he looked up at Zuko, and Zuko could see his fire reflected there. 

But at the last moment, the boy twisted the other way, swinging his body all the way around. His arms swept wide and the wind rushed around him like a concentrated tornado, the airbender at its center. 

It was too late for Zuko to change his course. The fire from his attack was swept up in the whirlwind, whipping around the airbender and directly back at him. 

Zuko was going to be hit with his own fire. 

He could see flames coming towards his face – filling his vision with a blinding light and heat that was all too familiar – and his mind went white with sudden panic. Zuko desperately flung his arms up to guard his face from the blast, flinching away from a pain that he _knew_ was coming. 

And in that instant he felt something strange come over him. For a moment it felt as though he held a pocket of still air in the palm of his hand like he might cradle a small flame. He thrust his hand out to block his face and the tempest’s winds split before him. The air expanded suddenly and – with a concussive blast – both he and the airbender were flung violently away from each other. 

Zuko felt his back slam hard into the cabin door, but even still his gaze remained transfixed on the sight before him. The air blast slammed into the iceberg at the ship’s side and Zuko watched in horror as the whole thing crumbled and massive chunks of ice rained down onto the deck. The whole ship lurched with the impact and Zuko felt his stomach lurch with it. 

Alright, so his head had probably impacted with solid metal one too many times. But through the ship’s shaking and the world’s spinning his and the little airbending kid’s eyes locked, and for a moment everything else stilled around them. The boy was sitting up on the deck looking stunned, eyes wide with shock and confusion –and perhaps a small bit of awe – and Zuko didn’t doubt that he wore a similar expression. 

And then the moment was broken as the deck shook with the furry creature’s sudden landing, and both boys were jolted back to reality. 

Wait– was that a _flying bison?_

One of the _very extinct flying bison??_

Zuko felt his world tilt again when he tried to sit up too quickly. He jolted at the feeling of a hand at his shoulder and tried to scramble away from the touch before he recognized his uncle at his side. 

_About time_ , he thought dimly. What the hell had he been doing below deck this whole time? 

Zuko desperately tried to shake off his disorientation, but his legs felt like jelly and somehow time seemed to slip in quick bursts even as everything moved in slow motion around him. He managed to scramble to his feet in time to watch his men get frozen solid by the waterbender – and when had they even gotten up here? – but not quickly enough to stop the trio from climbing aboard the bison’s back. It was all he could do to send a weak blast of fire after their retreating figures before they were no more than a spec in the distance. 

For a moment, all he could do was stand and stare as his greatest hope shrunk on the horizon. 

But then his uncle’s supportive hand returned to his shoulder and shook him out of his daze. Zuko ripped his shoulder out his uncle’s grasp and turned sharply to survey the ship’s damage. 

He could feel that familiar rage welling up inside him, stoking hot embers into flame, but this time it was accompanied by a hollow feeling deep in his gut. 

“Good news for the Fire Lord,” his uncle commented blithely. “The Fire Nation’s greatest threat is just a little kid.” 

Zuko felt his temper flare. “That kid, Uncle, just did _this_.” He gestured pointedly to the state of the ship, its hull battered and warped and the deck now half-submerged in ice. “I won’t underestimate him again,” he spat. 

Was it really the airbender who had done this, though? 

It didn’t make sense. If he’d had that kind of power, Zuko wondered, why hadn’t he used it before? Why hadn’t he used it to defend that horrible little Water Tribe village instead of letting himself get captured in the first place? 

Just before the blast, the boy had barely managed to create a shield of air around his body to guard against Zuko’s attack, after which he didn’t have an opportunity to so much as shift his stance. Whatever that blast had been, the kid hadn’t created it. Avatar or not, nobody could bend like that without any movement whatsoever. 

But if the avatar hadn’t done it, _who did?_

Zuko felt the world tilt beneath his feet. The edges of his vision blurred and his stomach turned like he was going to be violently sick. 

Deliberately avoiding his uncle’s concerned gaze, Zuko turned on his heel to snap instructions at his crew and marched below deck. He desperately needed to lie down. He was certain he had the beginnings of a concussion, which would surely explain the irrational direction of his current thoughts. 

Because if the kid hadn’t done it, and Zuko was the only other person who’d made it on deck, then the only explanation was that _Zuko _had been the one to create that explosion. And that would be ridiculous.__

____

____

Because after everything – everything he’d been through, everything he’d suffered, everything he’d lost and then nearly regained after almost three years of fruitlessly searching without a single lead to guide him – after all of that, surely the universe wouldn’t be so cruel. 

Because if all of that were true, then Zuko would be the avatar. 

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this is my first fanfic.  
> Let me know what you think! I'm always down to chat in the comments.
> 
> The next 2 chapters are in the process of editing now, so it shouldn't be long at all before the next update!


	2. In which Zuko ignores his identity crisis so hard it creates several other crises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said this chapter would be out fairly quickly, but it ended up a bit longer than I originally anticipated. Sorry?
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Zuko was _not_ brooding.

He was _resting_. Strategizing. Contemplating his next move. Solitude and silence were important for a clear mind. He was merely doing what any good captain would. So no, he was certainly not doing anything as ridiculous as _brooding_. 

No matter what Uncle Iroh said. 

Besides, he couldn’t stand the looks the crew was giving him when they thought he wasn’t looking. They stared at him with something like half-pity and half-trepidation, like he was a toddler that had just dropped his ice cream on the ground and they were waiting for him to throw a tantrum. So Zuko elected to stay in his quarters, resting his pounding head and staring at the ceiling. Maybe if he could sleep for a few hours, this terrible sense of unease would go away. 

It was beginning to feel like a futile effort. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on the little airbender’s face. Even hours later, it still unnerved him to think about that moment when the two of them had locked eyes. Somehow, the airbender had looked just as shocked as Zuko felt. 

And still, Zuko recalled the feeling he’d had just before the blast, like a moment of quiet in the midst of his panic. In the moment before his own flames would reach him, it felt like his mind had gone blank. All the anger, fear, and frustration was whited out by panic, and he’d just _reacted_. It was almost like firebending, but without the fire. There was no stoking of his spirit’s embers, no breath to summon the flame. Instead of harnessing his raw emotions to summon fire, it felt as though he’d acted _around_ them. 

Zuko lifted his hand above his head and stared at it, as though he could find the answers to his questions written on his palm. He took a deep breath and felt the candles at his bedside breathe with him. He summoned the fire on an exhale, a small flame flickering to life above his head. 

It didn’t feel the same. Fire was not gentle. It was not calm. Fire lived and breathed a life of its own, and therefore was never idle. There was a reason fire was often used as a metaphor for passion. That was why it required strength of both mind and spirit to bend. 

His teachers back home had explained that fire was the superior element because it was the most powerful, and therefore required the most powerful of benders to wield it. Benders of the other nations manipulated the elements around them, but they did not have the power of creation the way firebenders did. Air had been the weakest of the elements, they’d said, because its benders allowed themselves to bow with each passing breeze. They allowed their element to control them, rather than the other way around, and their weakness made them nothing more than despicable cowards. 

But Zuko recalled the sensation of quiet strength he’d felt just before the blast and wondered if perhaps that was what airbending was _really_ like. 

He’d spent enough time at sea to know that though the wind could be changeable, it was also not to be trifled with. Given enough time, the wind could erode even the greatest jagged cliffs into the smoothest stone. 

Closing his eyes, Zuko tried to summon that same sense of calm again. He tried to imagine the power of the ocean winds sharpening into a single point, then imagined that point in the palm of his hand. He breathed deeply, focusing on that mental image as he felt his power build, and then with all the force he could muster, he thrust his fist into the air! 

Nothing happened.

Zuko groaned and threw his head back with a solid _thunk_ , then groaned again louder when his headache flared in response. 

_Stupid_. What did he think was going to happen? Did he really believe he could just _think himself_ into airbending? What was he even doing? 

Zuko let out a huff of frustration and rolled onto his side to glower at the wall. This whole thing was stupid. Obviously his concussion was worse than he thought. 

_Stupid._

* * *

“The avatar died a hundred years ago, along with the rest of the airbenders.” _Spirits_ , what Zuko wouldn’t give to slam his fist into Zhao’s stupid face. “Unless you’ve found some evidence that the avatar is still alive…” 

Zuko felt his breathing stutter but fought to keep his expression neutral. “No,” he said through gritted teeth, “Nothing.” 

It just figures he’d run into Zhao the minute they finished docking for repairs. 

Because Zuko had the best luck in the entire damn world. 

“Prince Zuko,” Zhao began again in that stupid voice of his that managed to be both smarmy and condescending at the same time, “the avatar is the only one who can stop the Fire Nation from winning this war. If you have any ounce of loyalty left—” he leaned down, bringing their faces uncomfortably close together— “you’ll tell me what you’ve found.” 

_You wouldn’t believe me if I told you_ , Zuko thought somewhat hysterically, recalling the blast of air and the little monk’s look of surprise. He fought to keep his gaze steady, which was hard to do when it felt like ice had begun to trickle down his spine. 

“I haven’t found anything,” he insisted. “It’s like you said – the avatar probably died a long time ago.” 

The words tasted like sand in his mouth. At some point during his friendly little chat with Commander Zhao, Zuko had begun to feel lightheaded and strangely disoriented. The room felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in on him, and he was suddenly certain that if he stayed in this room a moment longer something within him was going to snap. 

Zuko jerked to his feet and hoped his mounting anxiety wasn’t made too obvious by his abrupt movement. “Come on, Uncle. Let’s go.” 

Zhao’s men stopped him before he could take more than a few carefully controlled steps. 

Because of course they’d interrogated his crew. 

Because Zuko had the best luck in the entire damn world. 

* * *

_“If your father really wanted you home, he would have let you return by now – avatar or no avatar.”_

It was these words, more than anything else, that drove Zuko to challenge Zhao. Throughout the duel, Zhao’s words circled through his head over and over again, ringing louder even than his own thoughts. They distracted him enough that he hadn’t noticed the man getting up behind him as he walked away, and if his uncle hadn’t been there Zuko would probably have a new scar to match the old one. 

_“But in his eyes you are a failure and a disgrace to the Fire Nation.”_

It was stupid to let Zhao get to him. Stupid to challenge him to an Agni Kai. 

_“You have the scar to prove it.”_

Then again, had he really had a choice? 

It didn’t matter that the duel was pointless. It didn’t matter if they both knew it was little more than a pissing contest. Zhao had witnessed the result of Zuko’s cowardice the first time he’d been in a duel; He couldn’t give him the satisfaction again. 

Still, humiliating Zhao didn’t make him feel better. 

_“Now remind me, how exactly was your ship damaged?”_

_I don’t know._

That was just it, wasn’t it? His uncle said he had more honor than the commander even in his banishment. Perhaps a few weeks ago he might have found comfort in those words, but now he wasn’t so sure he deserved them. 

_“-how exactly was your ship damaged?”_

Zuko wanted to scream. _I don’t know!_

But he did. 

* * *

Zuko recognized his uncle’s footsteps behind him before the man spoke. 

“Prince Zuko, it’s getting late. You should eat.” 

Zuko didn’t turn, but he knew his uncle wouldn’t take offense. Uncle Iroh had sort of been hovering ever since the – ah – _altercation_ with Commander Zhao. That was probably fair, he supposed. To be honest, he hadn’t even realized that it had begun to get dark, even though he’d been staring at the horizon for quite some time. 

“Uncle, you’ve seen a lot of different firebending in your day.” 

It wasn’t exactly phrased as a question, but his uncle answered nonetheless: “I suppose so, yes.” 

“Have you ever heard of, um, bending invisible fire before?” Zuko suppressed a wince. “Or – well, maybe not _invisible_ – but bending, uh, _heat_? Like the heat in the air? And not just to raise the temperature or- or divert steam or something, but to actually move the air. Like fire that… that you can’t… see,” he finished lamely. 

He felt his uncle step up beside him at the ship’s bow, but Zuko still didn’t look at him. He wasn’t really sure if he could. 

That was okay though. Uncle Iroh had always allowed him this modicum of privacy before. Truthfully, Zuko had come to hate making eye contact in the months after his injury. He despised the looks of pity or barely concealed curiosity he received when people got a glimpse of the bandages covering his face. He eventually taught himself to make eye contact again out of sheer stubbornness, determined that if people were so insistent on staring, Zuko would just have to stare right back, and he wouldn’t be the one to flinch first. 

It wasn’t the same with Uncle Iroh, though. Nothing ever was. 

He loved him and hated him for it in equal measures, sometimes. 

“I met a man once,” Iroh began slowly, “who never performed firebending with his hands. I don’t know whether he never learned to or if he decided it was unnecessary, as he had the unique ability to produce a condensed and highly explosive blast of fire with naught but his mind.” 

He chuckled at what Zuko was sure was a rather incredulous look on his face. “Sometimes people are simply born with unique abilities – things that seem to defy logic at first glance. Other times, these abilities are developed by building upon the foundations of what came before. Lightning-bending, for example, is merely an extension of firebending, based upon previous bending forms and taken a few steps further.” 

Of course Uncle Iroh could never simply give him a straight answer. Why did he even bother? Zuko had regretted the question the minute it was out of his mouth anyways. 

Iroh turned to look at his nephew directly, while Zuko’s gaze remained stubbornly fixed on the waves below. “I don’t know that I’ve seen what you’re describing,” he said, “but I don’t doubt that anything could be possible. Many firebenders can manipulate the heat within and around them, so it’s not completely implausible that one could take that skill to the next level and manipulate the movement of the air to some degree…” Iroh trailed off. He had that far-off look in his eyes that Zuko knew meant he was contemplating something deeply – whether that be the state of the world or which kind of tea he wanted with his dinner, Zuko could never guess – but after a few moments his brow furrowed and he shook himself from his musings. “Why do you ask, Prince Zuko?” 

Zuko tried to swallow but his mouth was suddenly as dry as sandpaper. “I was just thinking.” 

Now it was Iroh’s turn to look slightly incredulous and Zuko quickly fumbled for a better explanation. “About the, uh- about your lesson! The one about, um, adapting different styles into your own fighting.” Truthfully, Zuko hadn’t been paying much attention to that particular lesson. Iroh had been teaching him his Breath of Fire, but Zuko was much more interested in the mechanics than the theory behind it. “The avatar had impressive defense when I fought him. I was just thinking about better ways to counter his bending, since he was clearly trained in a different style.” 

He watched as his uncle practically _beamed_ – elated at the idea of his nephew taking his lesson to heart. Zuko felt a twinge of guilt for dismissing the man’s advice in the past. 

“We should, uh- we should get inside,” Zuko muttered, finally turning from the railing. 

“You must eat first, Nephew.” Zuko felt his stomach twist at the endearment. His uncle’s fond (though still semi-formal) _Nephew_ wasn’t remotely the same as Azula’s taunting _Zuzu_ , but the fact that he’d earned its use by lying to the man’s face filled him with a rush of shame. “Eat first, and then rest.” 

Iroh put his arm around Zuko’s shoulders as they walked back, a rare form of affection considering Zuko’s aversion to physical touch. Moments like these were usually precious. 

Zuko felt his stomach give another sharp twist of guilt and vaguely wondered if he could hold off on getting sick until he reached his own cabin. 

He didn’t want to burden his uncle more than he already had. 

* * *

Zuko’s bending practice was particularly aggressive the next morning. He’d gotten little sleep the night before and was too restless to sit through his morning meditation. His uncle sat on the deck frowning gravely as he watched Zuko go through his forms. Every comment he made about _remembering his basics_ and _fire comes from the breath_ just made Zuko more agitated and his bending more reckless. 

But every time his temper would cool and his movements became more precise, more fluid, there was a moment just before the fire burst into the air that he feared there would be no fire at all. He would imagine, just for that moment, that the air was about the split before him, about to lash out with his arm’s swing or surge forward with his next thrust. 

Of course, his movements produced nothing but his own familiar fire, and Zuko felt angry with himself all over again for expecting anything different. 

He was being stupid. Not only that, but he was ruining his own practice and wasting his uncle’s time! 

In the midst of his frustration and anger, his next shot would go wild, and his uncle would remind him to breathe first and _then_ bend, and the cycle would begin anew. 

_I’d better capture the avatar soon_ , he thought viciously, _before I go completely crazy._

* * *

Uncle Iroh came back to him a day later with some new thoughts about Zuko’s _invisible fire_ theory. 

“Heat rises,” he’d explained excitedly, “so if you could find a way to direct your bending to target specific pockets of air, you could theoretically manipulate the air itself! Rather like the airbenders did themselves, yes Prince Zuko?” 

Uncle wanted him to go down to the cargo hold to help him try out a few possible techniques where the wind wouldn’t interfere. Unable to lie his way out of it this time, as it _was_ his idea, Zuko spent over an hour sweating in the rapidly overheating bowels of the ship and decided that going crazy was not, as a matter of fact, his number one concern. 

It was the very real possibility that he might throw himself overboard first. 

* * *

Kyoshi Island was, as far as Zuko was concerned, a bit of a dump. 

Not that it mattered much anyways. Surely a village with such pathetic defenses didn’t _really_ think they’d be able to hide the avatar, did they? One unguarded port and no perimeter lookout around the rest of the island? It’s like they were asking to be invaded! 

And okay, maybe the teenage girls with the fans were a bit of a surprise. But still. 

“Hey, over here!” 

_The avatar._

Zuko spun around. 

The boy’s face was set in determination, staff at the ready, but Zuko found himself once again taken aback by how young the kid was. How old was he? Twelve? Thirteen? He was probably the same age Zuko had been when he- 

_Stop it._

There was no point in thinking about that now. Not now that he was so close again. Thinking like that would only serve to distract him and- 

-and get him thrown into a wall. 

_Ow._

Zuko groaned and pushed himself out from under the pile of crumbling wooden boards. He was definitely going to have some serious splinters. 

“Please, you have to listen to me,” the boy was saying. He held his hands up in a position of surrender, but Zuko had learned his lesson when it came to underestimating this kid. “I’m not the person you’re looking for. I’m not the avatar!” 

“Don’t lie to me!” Zuko spat. His already tenuous hold over his own fire _snapped_ , sending the remnants of the decrepit hut hurtling away from him. 

The kid stumbled back a step in alarm. “No really!” he cried, “I can only bend air! I- I was frozen – and then I wasn’t – and then everyone said there was a war, but I didn’t know! And then we set off the flare – but I didn’t mean to! – but then you were there and you were gonna hurt the village and I thought- I thought I could- I just wanted to _help_!” 

Zuko kicked a chunk of burning debris out of his way as he sent another wave of fire at the boy, who barely managed to leap out of the way at the last second. 

“They said the avatar died a hundred years ago!” – He dodged another wild shot. – “Do I _look_ a hundred and twelve to you?” 

_“Shut up!”_

Zuko released an animalistic _roar_ as he sent another blast of fire at the boy, but his shot went wild. Zuko felt unsteady, lightheaded, and he suddenly realized that he’d begun to hyperventilate. 

_Not now_ , he thought desperately. _Stars above, please not now._

The airbender alighted on the roof of a nearby hut. Well, the nearest one that wasn’t already crumbling in the heat of the fire anyway. “You have to believe me,” he pleaded. “I might really be the last airbender in the whole world, but I’m _not_ the avatar. I- I never should have let anyone think I was.” The boy looked suddenly ashamed, shrinking in on himself. “ _Please_ , you have to stop hurting these people.” 

Zuko felt like everything inside of him was coming to a boil. The world around him was moving too fast, yet it felt like he was wading through mud just to take each breath. Fire flickered along the edge of his vision, girls with fan blades and swords ducked in and out of the open street, taking his men down with brutal efficiency, and the airbender stared at him from the rooftop, wide-eyed and pleading. 

_It’s not fair._

Zuko practically _screamed_ as he launched his next shot, but the boy had already vanished over the rooftops before it reached him, and the roof where he’d previously stood crumbled into a pile of burning boards and charcoal. 

Zuko was left standing alone in the dirt road, panting like he’d just run a marathon. 

For someone who’d been completely blinded by anger only moments ago, he felt surprisingly… empty. Not even the impromptu shower – courtesy of the Unagi – could really shake him out of it. He felt like a burst blood vessel. Like everything inside of him – all the rage and confusion and disappointment – had welled up inside until it became too much. Something in him must have snapped, leaving behind nothing left but a flimsy shell. 

He could have stood there for ten seconds or ten years and it wouldn’t have made a difference. It felt like his whole world was crashing down around him. 

The kid obviously had to be lying. He was hoping to throw Zuko off his trail – to trick him! Of course he would claim not to be the avatar; the whole world would be hunting him down soon enough, and the Fire Nation would spare no expense for his capture. He was just trying to save his own skin! 

Even Zuko could admit that didn’t really make sense. He didn’t really have the energy to try to convince himself either. 

But he didn’t want to believe the alternative. Couldn’t _let_ himself believe it. 

Hunting the airbender down again was supposed to put all this – this _whatever-it-was_ – that had been going on inside his head to rest. He was going to capture the avatar and bring him to the Fire Lord, and then his father would let him come home. 

He was supposed to be going _home_. 

_It’s not fair._

* * *

Zuko could never really say no to his uncle. 

Honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what would happen if he tried. Zuko was the captain of his own ship, but in reality it was Iroh who held the highest rank. He was the Fire Lord’s brother and a decorated war veteran, while Zuko maintained his title as prince on a mere technicality. Zuko was well aware that he mostly maintained command of his ship because Iroh allowed it, and the knowledge rankled sometimes. 

But truthfully, it wasn’t a matter of rank or status or power that prevented Zuko from telling his uncle to forget about his stupid idea. No, the truth was that Zuko simply hated disappointing him. 

He would never admit such a thing out loud of course. And it certainly wouldn’t stop him from complaining at length about whatever time-wasting nonsense the man was determined to drag him into this time. But he knew as well as anyone else that Uncle Iroh didn’t have to be there, and though he couldn’t understand it, Zuko was (in a part of himself buried deep _deep_ down) exceedingly grateful for his presence. 

That didn’t change the fact that he was pissed to be back at this port looking for a _lotus tile_ of all things. Zuko secretly hoped they never found it, if only so that he would never have to play that stupid game ever again. 

Under normal circumstances, he probably would have insisted on remaining onboard the ship. He would make the excuse that he wanted to rest, or needed to chart their next course, or that he just didn’t _have time for your ridiculous antics, Uncle!_ But this time Zuko had something of his own that he needed to take care of. 

All he needed was an excuse to go off on his own. While his men would probably be more than happy to leave him alone (or at least to follow orders when he told them to), his uncle had been keeping an annoyingly close eye on him ever since his failure at Kyoshi Island and would be instantly suspicious of anything out of the ordinary. So when his uncle told him “You should try doing some shopping of your own, Prince Zuko! You never know what treasures you might find,” Zuko responded with a frustrated growl (no acting required) and marched off through the market. 

“I’m going for a walk,” he grumbled at one of the masked soldiers from his crew. The unspoken _alone_ was clear enough that the man merely gave him a nod and remained where he was. Zuko was the prince after all; he could take care of himself. 

The tiny port his uncle was practically ransacking sat on a river and was surrounded by woods, providing the perfect cover Zuko needed. He followed the river until he found a quiet area far from the bustle of the market and hidden from view by a large boulder. 

He knew this idea was probably crazy, but he needed to be sure. There were too many things that just didn’t add up and a ship full of people – including his nosy uncle – was no place to test his suspicions. 

Zuko shook his arms out at his side. “Okay,” he muttered under his breath, “okay, we’re doing this.” Zuko focused on the water and lifted his arms, shuffling his feet into something resembling a fighting stance, and… stopped. 

“I can’t do this,” he groaned miserably. 

_What am I supposed to do, think watery thoughts?_ Zuko slumped back against the boulder. To be honest, he hadn’t actually seen much waterbending before. His only real point of reference was the water tribe girl who traveled around with the airbender, and she clearly wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing. 

Okay, so waterbending was out for now. What about earth? He’d seen plenty of earthbenders, even fought a few. Their grounded style made them difficult to push back but easy to maneuver around, and taking an earthbender down was simply a matter of keeping them off balance. Fire was excellent at that. Still, their stances seemed fairly utilitarian and were similar enough to simple firebending forms that he could probably replicate them. 

Zuko stood up straight and spread his feet like he’d seen earth kingdom soldiers do. He focused his attention on a rock at the edge of the tree line and tried to imagine it moving. Shaking his arms out nervously one last time, Zuko stomped with one foot, pushed his arms out in a forceful shove, and watched as the rock… did nothing. 

Zuko frowned and tried again, pushing harder this time, but it still didn’t budge. 

Well, that wasn’t exactly conclusive evidence. Maybe he just wasn’t doing it right? Or maybe he didn’t have the right mindset or the correct breathing technique. Or maybe this whole thing was stupid and Zuko was an idiot for considering it in the first place! Maybe he should just let himself feel relieved that nothing happened and move on. 

_No_ , Zuko thought. He had to be sure. He would never be able to rest until he tried everything he could, banished every possible doubt. He couldn’t quit now. 

Zuko didn’t know how long he spent by himself out there, waving his arms and muttering to himself like a lunatic, but it was nearly midday when, in a fit of frustration, Zuko slammed his fist into the huge boulder at his side. 

And the boulder _cracked_. 

Zuko yelped and scrambled back, landing on his butt in an undignified heap. He gaped at the huge crack that snaked across the stone, nearly cutting the boulder cleanly in half. He leapt to his feet and ran around the boulder, scanning up and down the riverbank and the tree line for somebody else, somebody who could have seen that (or _done_ that), but saw no one. 

Zuko released a slightly hysterical laugh. 

He whirled back around to look at the rock he’d been unsuccessfully trying to push. Maybe if he just… 

Heart still pounding with adrenaline, Zuko tried to harness that sudden feeling of recklessness and faced his target. He squared his shoulders, bent his knees, and thrust his fist in an upwards punch, and the rock shot into the air. It hovered at eye-level, suspended in the air by Zuko’s unwavering focus. 

He… _he did it_. 

Zuko choked out another surprised laugh, but this time it was tinged with delight. He was really doing it! He could actually feel the connection, like an invisible energy tying him to his element. The sensation wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but this time the element was _earth_. 

He was earthbending! 

His moment of celebration was short-lived, however. In the next moment, Zuko heard the rustle of footsteps behind him and his focus _snapped_. The rock crashed to the ground just before one of his own soldiers stepped out from around the big boulder. 

The man paused mid-step at the sight of the prince wide-eyed and frozen with his arms hovering awkwardly in the air. 

For a long moment the two just stared at each other. Then Zuko blinked and jolted upright, lowering his arms back to his sides to awkwardly brush non-existent dust from his pant legs. “Yes?” he snapped, “What is it?” 

"The crew is finished refueling the ship, sir. We can depart whenever you and the general are ready.” 

Zuko struggled to regain his bearings as the sudden jolt of adrenaline left Zuko shaky and off-balance. He tried valiantly to compose himself into the image of an impervious commander, folding his trembling hands behind his back and lifting his chin in a show of confidence he did not feel. 

“Of course,” he said calmly. “Please relay this news to my uncle. We should be leaving as soon as possible.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Zuko couldn’t help but feel relieved when the man turned to begin the trek back. If he’d thought Zuko’s behavior was odd, he didn’t show it. Perhaps the prince’s infamous temper was doing him a favor for once. 

The excitement and wonder from only moments ago felt like a distant memory as Zuko made to follow the man. Surely he should feel… different, somehow. Like something fundamental had changed inside of him. Or rather, perhaps he should feel like something important had finally slotted into place. 

Because something had, hadn’t it? He was- he knew- Everything was just different now! Or, well, everything _should_ be different. 

Why didn’t he feel different? 

Zuko glanced back only once as he followed his crewman back to the market. The rock sat where it had started, as though it had never moved at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Zuko's sanity I guess.
> 
> I've been so blown away by the all the support from you guys! Please feel free to hit me up in the comments with whatever thoughts you've got, and I'll be back with another update soon! We're getting to the _juicy_ bits now.


	3. In which Zuko has a No Good Very Bad Day and somehow Aang's is still worse

When Zuko was a kid, his mother used to read him play scripts.

Azula had never cared for those stories much. She grew frustrated when the characters made poor choices, or didn’t make the ones _she_ would have, and she couldn’t stand the farcical comedy. She once argued that the romantic protagonist of a story shouldn’t have had a happy ending because he’d done nothing but act like a fool the whole time, and really, it was more luck than anything else that allowed him to succeed. 

“It’s romantic,” their mother had explained. “He let his heart guide him and risked everything for love.” 

“Well then love is stupid,” a petulant young Azula declared. 

Zuko scoffed. “Of course _you_ would say that.” 

“Love is just a feeling,” she argued snidely. “It doesn’t actually have mystical powers. A smart leader is guided by their head, not their heart, _Dum-dum_.” 

“Azula,” their mother admonished sharply, “there’s no need to be rude.” Azula pouted. Their mother’s frown morphed into a soft smile then as she told her daughter, “You’ll understand when you’re older. Love makes fools of us all.” 

Azula made a noise of disgust and declared that she was going to bed. She marched from the room with all the royal dignity that a child of no more than seven could manage. 

Zuko’s mother gently lifted his chin from where he’d been glaring down at his bedspread. She smiled softly at him in that way that Zuko now laid awake at night trying to remember. “Love is not a weakness, Zuko,” she said. “I know because I love you, and that gives me strength.” 

She leaned over then to kiss Zuko’s forehead and tucked the blankets up around his shoulder as he settled in for the night. 

“Love is the strongest thing in the world.” 

Many of Zuko’s memories of his mother were shaky, blurred by time and grief. But he could still recall the sound of her voice as she read to him in the evenings, doing different voices for the different characters and waving her arms to describe the action sequences. Zuko would giggle into his pillow and demand an encore whenever she did something particularly silly, and his mother would laughingly oblige with even more gusto than before. 

Before his mother’s disappearance and his father’s ascension to the throne, Zuko’s favorite play had been a tale of a handsome rogue pirate who, blessed by the spirits of the winds, sailed to rescue an imprisoned priestess. His crew had been blighted by evil spirits and he needed her power to heal them, and along the way he and the priestess fell madly in love. 

The play was full of battling pirates and dangerous endeavors, and Zuko would imagine himself to be the pirate captain sailing the world, fighting for the needy, and saving beautiful damsels! He’d climb up the big tree in the garden, and the highest branch would become the mast of an ancient ship from which Zuko could gaze out at the stormy seas. He’d wield a long stick like a sword, fighting back invisible foes to protect his poisoned crew (who in this case were a group of rather uncooperative turtleducks). 

Turns out sailing the world wasn’t as fun as the theatre led him to believe. 

There were certainly fewer damsels in need of rescue, for one thing. (Not that he really considered rescuing pretty girls much of a priority.) And up until recently, there were actually very few real fights, let alone dramatic battles to partake in. (Although there was that time in the spirit swamp, but he and his uncle had agreed never to speak of that again.) Mostly, Zuko and his crew had been sailing around pointlessly, following weak leads and hoping for a sign of something avatar-y. 

But pirates were something Zuko could check off his list now. That and dramatic, farcical battles. A nine-year-old Zuko would have been thrilled! 

A sixteen-year-old Zuko sincerely wished he could forget the whole affair. He’d gone to drag his uncle back to the ship, lotus tile or no lotus tile, when they overheard news of the avatar’s movements. 

From actual pirates. 

The guy had an eyepatch and an iguana-parrot and everything! 

(Zuko thought the whole pirates-thing was, like, a bit. He assumed they’d drop the act once they weren’t trying to attract customers anymore, or at least change out of their costumes before they went after the kids. But apparently pirates really are just Like That. Unbelievable.) 

He and his uncle locked eyes the moment the pirate’s words registered. Zuko could practically see the disappointment in his uncle’s eyes as the man realized their shopping trip was about to be cut short. Well the joke was on him, Zuko thought sourly, since that was exactly what he’d come here to do anyways. 

Of course, Zuko had been planning to go back to the ship. He’d been entertaining the idea of taking a nap, or maybe aggressively meditating until he was too exhausted to stay awake and _then_ taking a nap. It was a foolproof plan. 

Instead, Zuko went after the kids. 

That’s what he was supposed to be doing, right? Find the avatar. Capture him. Bring him to your father. Regain your honor. 

Easy. 

Or it would have been, if Zuko hadn’t just _earthbended_. 

See, this was why the whole napping-thing was essential. Zuko just wanted to close his eyes and pretend he’d never found that kid in the south pole. Or pretend he’d never been banished in the first place. Or maybe pretend he was a rogue pirate again, sailing to find a priestess who could magic his problems away. 

He just needed more time. Time to figure out exactly what it meant the he could— 

That he was— 

He needed time to process, okay? 

Instead, Zuko found the airbender’s little camp with shocking ease – _It’s like they’re not even_ trying _to avoid capture!_ – and got double crossed in a move that Zuko really should have seen coming. 

He honestly hadn’t thought the pirates were smart enough for that. 

“You’re really gonna hand over the avatar for a stupid piece of parchment?” 

He hadn’t counted on Sokka. 

“Don’t listen to him!” Zuko snapped. “He’s trying to turn us against each other!” 

The pirates’ captain blinked stupidly and looked down at the little airbender. “Your friend here is the avatar?” 

“Sure is!” the water tribe boy declared proudly. “And I’ll bet he’ll fetch a lot more on the black market than that fancy scroll.” 

Spirits, Zuko wanted to set that guy’s stupid little ponytail on fire. He was just playing them! He knew that kid wasn’t the avatar! He had to! He knew because he was traveling with the kid, just like Zuko knew because _he_ was the- 

“Shut your mouth, you water tribe peasant!” Zuko snarled. 

“Yeah, Sokka,” the airbender – _Aang_ apparently, since that’s what the girl had called him – hissed in warning. “You really _should_ shut your mouth.” 

“I’m just saying, it’s bad business sense. Just imagine how much the Fire Lord would pay for the avatar! You guys would be set for life.” 

Welp. There goes that plan. 

Time for Plan B. 

* * *

By the time they made it back to the ship, the sun was growing small on the horizon and the rest of the crew had started dinner without them. Zuko’s uncle didn’t put up much of a protest when he declined to join them – apparently the smell of roast duck was calling louder than his incessant need to hover like an anxious mother turtleduck for once. Although it was also possible that he still felt a little sore about the fate of his missing pai sho piece. 

As it turns out, Plan B had mostly involved a lot of fire. And getting his boat stolen apparently. 

And then crashed. 

So yeah, chucking his uncle’s lotus tile – which, hey, he hadn’t lost after all! – over a cliff probably shouldn’t have felt as cathartic as it was, but he’ll take what he can get. 

Stupid pirates. 

After returning to the ship (without the monk _or_ the pai sho tile, thank you very much), Zuko made the executive decision to leave explaining the situation to his uncle. After such a long day, all he really wanted was to return to his own quarters and be alone. 

Zuko lit one of his meditation candles with a lazy flick of his wrist before flopping face-first onto his mattress. With his face half-smushed against the bed, Zuko watched idly as a bead of fresh wax built up below the candlewick and slowly dripped down the side. 

It was his uncle who first suggested meditation outside of firebending training, and it had become something of a routine after a particularly frustrating day to light his candles and focus on his breathing until he didn’t feel so angry and restless. But instead of the usual (and literal) fuming in frustration, Zuko was just exhausted. He could feel himself sinking into a kind of bone-deep weariness – the kind that made him feel stretched like a towel wrung dry. 

It was a feeling that was all too familiar. 

In the weeks following Zuko’s banishment, he’d spent the majority of his time in his quarters on the ship. No one had been permitted to come in or out except his uncle – not Lieutenant Jee, nor any other crew members, and not a single healer. Zuko had laid in bed, his whole head throbbing with pain and his body wracked with fever, while the light had been reduced to little more than a single candle to ease his intense migraine, and there he’d lain for days. 

Uncle Iroh came several times a day. Sometimes he would bring food, and the smell would make Zuko’s stomach churn the moment his uncle walked in the door. He didn’t have the energy to argue, however, as his uncle coaxed him into eating each bite one by one and held his head up so he could take a few weak sips of water. Other times, he would simply sit by Zuko’s side, wetting and replacing the cool compress on his forehead over and over again while Zuko floated somewhere just beyond consciousness. He thought he remembered the man speaking to him, or perhaps simply humming a tune, but the memory was fuzzy at best. 

And then sometimes he came to change Zuko’s bandages, and though he tried to be as gentle as possible, he couldn’t prevent the pained whimpers and groans that spilled from his nephew’s lips. 

Zuko remembered the relief on his uncle’s face the day he was first able to open his wounded eye. It had taken a lot of gentle coaxing on his uncle’s part, and Zuko had tried very hard to pretend that he hadn’t been trembling like a leaf from both pain and fear, but he managed to peel his eyelid back and found that he could actually see his uncle’s face. 

It was a bit blurry still, and the light was far too bright, but he could _see_. 

His uncle’s eyes had shined with tears of relief and happiness – and how pathetic was it that this was something worthy of celebration? The fact that Zuko could barely see out of his mutilated left eye was worthy of his uncle’s tears? Zuko had nothing! Everything that he’d ever cared about – his honor, his throne, his country – had been stripped from him like he was _nothing_ , and he deserved it. 

That was the first time Zuko had felt that now-familiar spark of anger well up inside of him. He’d yelled at his uncle then, though he couldn’t recall what he’d said. He’d screamed insults and accusations until his voice was hoarse and Uncle Iroh hadn’t so much as reprimanded him for it. 

Before that day, Zuko spent weeks as an invalid in his own ship as a deep sense of hopelessness and despair seeped into his mind and made its home in his bones. It was no wonder his uncle hardly admonished him for his fits of anger or cruel words after witnessing the alternative. 

Zuko’s spirit had probably seemed more dead than alive in those first few weeks. 

He’d dragged himself from his fugue state by concentrating on his search for the avatar, and now every time he felt himself slipping back into despondence, he only needed to focus on his anger again to redouble his efforts. 

And he had plenty to draw from. 

He was angry that he’d lost his birthright, angry that it was taking so long to complete his mission, and angry at the general whose cruel suggestion had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He was angry at Lu Ten for dying and at his grandfather for making his second son successor. He was angry at Azula for being a better bender, a better fighter, a better heir. 

He was angry at his mother for leaving him behind. 

And maybe he was a little angry at himself. If he hadn’t talked his way into that war meeting, if he’d just kept his mouth shut, maybe his father never would have had to teach him a lesson. If he’d been more like his cousin Lu Ten, maybe he could have been good enough. Maybe he wouldn’t have been such a burden to his father, or to his entire nation. And maybe he wouldn’t be such a burden to his uncle now. 

He hadn’t said as much back then, but Zuko could tell that his despondence had frightened his uncle. 

It would frighten him again to see Zuko now. 

With a tired groan, Zuko rolled onto his back to watch the shadows flicker on the ceiling. He tried to reach for that anger – the consuming passion that would propel him upright, send him marching to the helm to demand an update on their progress – but he couldn’t find it. Instead he just felt cold. Cold and tired. 

Because everything was different now, wasn’t it? This wasn’t just a momentary setback. It didn’t matter that his mission to capture the avatar wasn’t finished yet; Zuko had already failed. 

Let his uncle think he was sleeping, Zuko decided. He didn’t have it in him right now to weather the man’s worried gaze and hesitant questions. Without that burning anger, he wasn’t sure he had the willpower to pretend that nothing had changed, and he doubted he could lie convincingly enough to fool his uncle if he asked what was wrong. 

There was a part of Zuko that wanted to tell him though. A part that yearned for his uncle’s comfort and advice, even if it came in the form of some incomprehensible proverb. 

But somehow Zuko couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

So now he was, well, not _hiding_ exactly, but strategically avoiding his uncle. Yeah, those were two totally different things. He just needed some time alone after– well, after everything. And on a crowded ship full of nosy crewmates, his room was the one place where he could just lay down and _breathe_. 

In and out. 

Not so hard, right? 

It _should_ be hard though, shouldn’t it? All of that intense anger and frustration – the impending nervous breakdown that had been pressing at the edges of Zuko’s consciousness all afternoon – it should all be overwhelming now that there was no one here as witness. 

Zuko stared at the candle at his bedside, expecting it to flicker and surge with his anxiety, but the flame remained as oddly steady as Zuko’s breathing – in and out, slow and even. 

Why wasn’t he hyperventilating again, like he had when his ship was buried in ice and snow? Like he had on the island when he’d fought all those young girls? When the avatar- 

No, when the _airbender_ confronted him. Because that’s all he was wasn’t he? The little monk had been telling the truth all along. 

_“You’re really gonna hand over the avatar for a stupid piece of parchment?”_

That’s what that stupid water tribe boy had said. 

_“Just Imagine how much the Fire Lord would pay for the avatar!”_

He’d known the truth too, of course. Zuko was sure of it. The guy had been there during the airbender’s escape from Zuko’s ship. He’d been there on Kyoshi Island that day. He knew and yet he’d said all of that anyways to trick the pirates into helping them escape. 

_“Just Imagine how much the Fire Lord would pay for the avatar!”_

How many other people knew? The other villagers from the Water Tribe? The people of Kyoshi island? How long before word spread? How long before _Zhao_ put the pieces together? 

_“Now remind me, how exactly was your ship damaged?”_

From the corner of his eye, Zuko saw the light beside him give a violent shudder. He turned his head again just in time to watch the candle’s tiny flame flare once before going out. 

* * *

Pohuai Stronghold was a massive fortress just on the border between the Fire Nation colonies and the yet-unclaimed land of the Earth Kingdom. There was no way that Zuko, banished as he was, could get within five miles of the place. 

But the Blue Spirit could. 

The Blue Spirit crept through the night like a spectre. Each breath and each footstep was near silent, each heartbeat steady and controlled. There was no hesitation in their movements, no clumsiness in their gait. The Blue Spirit bore no loyalty to any other and tolerated no indecision. 

They were a being of single-minded focus. The kind Zuko’s teachers could never seem to instill in him as they drilled the same bending forms over and over again with little result. They were smooth where Zuko was awkward, disciplined where Zuko was careless, persistent where Zuko would falter. 

The Blue Spirit was emotionless where Zuko _burned_. 

Behind the mask, he wasn’t Prince Zuko, son of the Fire Lord and heir to the throne. He wasn’t a leader for his people or the commander of his crew. He wasn’t a loyal son or a dishonorable one. He left all of those expectations and responsibilities behind when he left his name. 

Behind a mask of anonymity, Zuko became what he could never be. 

There was no dishonor, then, in slipping through the dark like a thief, or in scaling the fortress’s ramparts. Nor was there any shame in eavesdropping on the colonel and delighting in his obvious disdain for Commander Zhao. 

Zuko just needed to be sure. There was no doubt in his mind that Zhao would be hunting the avatar as well, and if he found the airbender first, well- 

He just needed more time. 

Zuko was relieved to hear that Zhao had yet to find the airbender. He was less relieved to hear that the man had been promoted. 

“My request,” Zhao told the colonel, “is now an order.” 

Well shit. 

* * *

Zuko let fire pour from his fists, flying in whatever direction it may. There was no real intent behind his movements, and his bending became reckless without a real target. 

“Is everything okay?” his uncle spoke from behind him. “It’s been almost an hour and you haven’t given the men an order.” 

Well, he couldn’t have honestly expected to avoid the man forever. Especially not after the news of Zhao’s promotion reached the prince’s ship. The way the crew kept staring at him made Zuko want to claw his own skin off. 

“I don’t care what they do.” 

Only as he spoke the words did Zuko realize they were true. Zhao was searching for the avatar, and he’d been given the Fire Lord’s express permission to do so by whatever means he deemed necessary. Zuko’s father had given his mission away to _Zhao_. 

Where did that leave him? 

“Don’t give up hope yet,” Iroh said. “You can still find the avatar before Zhao.” 

Zuko wanted to laugh. 

“How, Uncle? With Zhao’s resources, it’s just a matter of time before he captures the avatar!” 

The avatar who wasn’t really the avatar. 

Would Zhao even realize he had the wrong person? Or would he ignore the boy’s claims as Zuko once had? Ironically, being mistaken for the avatar was the only possibility that would keep Zhao from killing him. The Fire Lord wanted the avatar alive – his express orders were to capture, not kill. Then the Fire Nation would imprison the airbender, probably for the rest of his life, and Zuko would go free. 

The thought made him vaguely ill. 

But if he failed his father, Zuko would never be welcomed home anyways. His honor, his throne, his country – “I’m about to lose them all,” Zuko whispered. 

His uncle came to stand at his side in an offer of support, but remained silent. Guess he’d finally found something Uncle Iroh didn’t have a proverb for after all. 

* * *

They used to tell stories in the Fire Nation of the avatar’s power and wrath. It was their duty to maintain balance, and thus the avatar had spent centuries annihilating anyone who grew too strong, too capable, too independent. The world needed the avatar’s power because it was yet too weak to stand on its own, but the Fire Nation was strong, and the world no longer needed the avatar to do what the Fire Nation could without them. 

Their nation was bringing peace and enlightenment to a world that was starving and scared, sharing their greatness with people who had only ever looked to the avatar to solve their problems. Why should the avatar get to decide who should prosper and who should struggle? No, the Fire Nation would make the whole world prosperous, and the avatar had no place in such a world; their existence would only threaten that prosperity. 

But this boy – dressed in the torn garb of a monk and dwarfed by the pillars that bound his arms and legs on either side – didn’t look much like the Fire Nation’s greatest threat. And when Zuko unsheathed his swords, the look in his eye was one of a frightened child, not a fierce warrior. 

The stronghold’s defenses somehow managed to be both massive overkill and laughably ineffective at the same time. Frankly, Zuko was almost impressed. Aang was held on one of the highest floors of the center tower, guarded by armed men outside his door, surrounded by several watchtowers, a highly trained group of expert marksman, and an entire battalion of soldiers, and Zuko literally came in through the front door. 

Ladies and gentlemen, behold the impeccable leadership of Admiral Zhao! 

They hadn’t even had the kid for twenty-four hours and there were no additional watchmen on the walls, no extra guards in the stairwells or soldiers on patrol, and Zhao had gathered nearly all of his men in the courtyard to listen to him give some kind of grand speech. Man, they’d make anyone Admiral these days! 

But even with all of that working in their favor, if this stupid kid didn’t get a move on he was going to get them _both_ caught! 

“Who are you? What’s going on?” he asked slowly. “Are you here to rescue me?” 

_Gee, what was your first clue? When I took out the guards or when I broke you out of your chains?_

Zuko was almost tempted to blow his cover, if only to inquire if the kid had received a blow to the head at some point during his capture. That might’ve explained how he got caught so quickly, but it didn’t explain why he’d been stupid enough to go anywhere near Pohuai Stronghold. Or why he was caught alone. Where were those friends of his? What happened to their giant flying bison? And why – in the name of _Agni himself_ – was he trying to stuff frogs down his shirt? 

_Spirits_ , they didn’t have time for this. No matter how many questions Zuko had. 

“Wait! My friends need to suck on those frogs!” 

…So many questions. 

Once they’d made it out of the tower and through the underground waterway, Zuko thought they’d almost made it, but that was when the warning bells began. He and Aang were spotted hanging on the side of the wall, and the rope they were climbing was immediately cut. Zuko braced himself for a hard impact, but Aang whipped up a cushion of air beneath them just before they hit the ground, and they were both on their feet again in moments. 

They broke into a sprint, rushing towards the rapidly closing gates. Zuko nearly stumbled in shock as the kid suddenly ran past him, shouting for Zuko to “Stay close to me!” 

_Spirits_ , that kid was fast. He was getting too far ahead. Zuko could see the guards in front of the gate closing in and knew that he wasn’t going to make it in time. Zuko opened his mouth, ready to yell for him to stop, when Aang directed a powerful blast of air at the guards ahead of him that sent them all flying. 

Huh. Zuko would have to learn that one. 

There was no time to stop and analyze _that_ particular train of thought as Zuko was quickly surrounded by guards. His heart was pounding in his chest, but not in panic this time. The Blue Spirit didn’t panic. The Blue Spirit _acted_. 

Zuko used his swords like an extension of himself. It was almost like bending in that way, but he’d always felt so much more fluid with his blades than he did with firebending. Fire needed fuel – it needed passion and feeling. Sword fighting required only intense focus. The Blue Spirit fought almost separate from emotion, concentrating only on the next swing, the next block, the next attack. 

It was liberating. 

Zuko lurched to a stop mid-swing when the soldiers he’d been lunging for were suddenly gone. Spinning around, he saw that they’d been blown back again, putting several yards’ distance between them. He had barely a second to appreciate his newly unobstructed path before Aang was catapulting Zuko into the air with a swing of his staff. He landed in a roll at the top of the first defensive wall and sprung to his feet, swords at the ready. 

_A little warning next time_ , Zuko thought vaguely, too busy sizing up his coming opponents to really feel that irritated. And then Aang was back, wrapping his legs around Zuko’s back and launching them into the air again. 

_Holy shit._ They were flying! Somehow the kid was using his staff to propel them across the next gap between ramparts, spinning it with the speed of a ship engine’s propeller. 

There were spears flying at them then. Soldiers tossed their weapons from the ground and Zuko did his best to block them without his full range of motion. With each kick of his leg or swing of his sword he felt his body jerk and dip in the air, and he could hear the boy above him grunting with exertion. 

_I should help him_ , Zuko thought. They needed more altitude or they weren’t going to make it, and Zuko felt his heartbeat spike with adrenaline. How had he done it the first time back on his ship? Why couldn’t he remember all of the sudden? But he had just seen the Aang blast those soldiers a minute ago. If he could replicate that, maybe that was all the boost they’d need to make it at least over the next wall. 

_Come on air_ , he thought desperately. He swung his arms to deflect another flying spear and tried to push the air down with it, willed it to— to _whoosh_ or something! But it didn’t work. Instead, the jerky movement elicited a strained cry from the airbender above him and Zuko felt his whole body lurch as they began to lose momentum. 

They barely made it. They crashed hard at the top of the next wall, but there was no time to recover from the impact. Aang was already up and defending himself, and Zuko almost cringed as he watched a soldier kick the kid’s staff out of his hands with enough force to break his fingers, had Aang been any slower. It was enough to throw the kid off too, and Zuko leapt to his feet before the man could send Aang flying over the parapet. He grabbed the soldier from behind, twisting his arm so the man was forced to stagger away from him, then kicked his foot out behind him. The man tripped on Zuko’s outstretched leg and plummeted over the edge. 

And then there were ladders. 

Why had Zuko thought this was a good idea again? 

Aang stood at the top of one of the ladders and lifted his hands, and under different circumstances Zuko might have laughed at the soldiers’ terrified expressions when they realized what was about to happen. 

The soldiers went hurtling to the ground. 

And then Aang was handing him a ladder and jumping from the rampart. “Jump on my back!” he cried – and seriously, _why_ had Zuko thought this was a good idea? – and maybe Zuko really had taken a few too many hits to the head in his lifetime, because he jumped after the kid without a second of hesitation. 

They propelled themselves right over the next wall by stepping from ladder to ladder, and then Zuko could see the trees over the last of the fortress’s ramparts and for one shining moment he thought they were going to make it. 

But he’d celebrated too soon. The ladder was burning from the ground up and Aang lunged just a moment too soon. Zuko’s fingers just barely clung to the edge of the wall before they plummeted to the ground. 

The two of them stood with their backs to the final gate and Aang shoved himself in front as a line of firebenders prepared their attack. The kid was ready to defend Zuko all on his own, but he wouldn’t be able to hold them back forever. With the closed gate at their back, there was no escape route, and Aang could only deflect fire, not defuse it. 

Zuko would have to do something. 

He’d wanted to keep his firebending a secret. It would have been less suspicious that way if they’d managed to escape. But the only difference between revealing himself now and doing it later was not burning to a crisp first, so he would take his chances. 

Zuko took a deep breath and was just about to step in front of Aang when— 

“Hold your fire!” he heard Zhao shout. “The avatar must be captured alive!” 

Oh. 

He’d almost forgotten about that part. 

_Good idea, Zhao._

In the blink of an eye, Zuko brought his swords up from behind Aang and crossed them at his throat. With his chest to the boy’s back, he could actually feel the way his breath hitched as he went completely stiff. The Fire Nation soldiers froze in place. 

_Your move, Admiral._

“Open the gate,” Zhao ground out. It sounded like the words physical pained him. 

Zuko resisted the urge to smirk. They weren’t home free yet. 

He began to walk backwards, taking each step carefully, his swords steady beneath the kid’s chin. They just needed to get to the crossroads behind them, Zuko thought, and then they could turn around and run. They just needed to be out of range of the firebenders, and far enough out to get a decent head start into the trees. They were almost there. 

And then Zuko’s eye caught the briefest flash of light from the top of the ramparts, like moonlight glinting off of glass, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He reacted in a heartbeat, swinging his swords out in a wide arc and sending a powerful wave of airbending tearing back towards the stronghold’s gate, a massive dust cloud left in its wake. The force of the wind sent the arrow flying back just before it would have reached them. 

Zuko had completely forgotten about the Yu Yan Archers. 

Aang immediately stumbled away from him, the abrupt movement lacking any of his usual airbender grace. He spun around fast enough to give himself whiplash and stared at Zuko, eyes wild and wide with shock, and for a moment Zuko felt completely pinned by the kid’s gaze. 

And then he bolted. 

“Wait!” Aang cried, but Zuko didn’t stop. He ducked into the trees and sprinted as fast as he could, dodging barely-there shadows in the dark and leaping over of uneven stones. 

“Wait, _please_! Come back!” 

Zuko could hear him on his tail. The boy was in the trees, leaping from branch to branch, chasing after him. 

Zuko’s foot caught on something in the dark, and he nearly lost his balance. He quickly tucked his swords away in case he needed to catch himself, but he didn't stop running. His heart was pounding in his ears and his breath felt like it was coming too quickly, hot and stale behind his mask. 

And then suddenly Zuko felt a hand on his shoulder and he didn’t hesitate to grab the arm it belonged to, flipping the kid’s whole body over his shoulder. Zuko hardly heard him hit the ground before he was pivoting on his heel and sprinting in another direction. 

“Please, I don’t understand!” he heard Aang cry out behind him – and _Agni_ , Zuko had never heard the kid sound so desperate. “Where are you going?” 

The kid was still too fast; Zuko needed a different plan. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder before he ducked to the side and pressed himself into the hollow of an overgrown tree. He let himself sink into the shadows, going completely still and trying to quiet his breath. 

He heard Aang pass him in the branches up above, still calling for him. “Stop! Wait!” 

_I’m sorry_ , Zuko thought wretchedly. 

“Please don’t go!” 

_I’m so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout out to [atinypiratequeen](https://sungyoonbunbun.tumblr.com/) for letting me harass her into being my somewhat-unwilling beta! Your aggressive encouragement both frightens and sustains me.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been leaving such wonderful comments! You can also find me on tumblr if you want @ [lizard-business](https://lizard-business.tumblr.com/). My inbox is always open!


	4. In which Zuko wanted a nap but not like this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Local Writer Promises Quick Update, Returns Four Months Later with Starbucks_
> 
> Look, school is hard guys. That's all I've got to say for myself.

Zuko stared at the rock.

The rock - insofar as it was capable as an inanimate object – stared back. 

Zuko narrowed his eyes in a menacing glare. 

The rock did not appear to be intimidated. 

This was stupid. He’d picked up the rock at their last stop because, well- it couldn’t hurt to practice, could it? That was what Azula would do. (Of course, Azula would never have been in this situation in the first place. She was the perfect princess, the perfect prodigy. Azula was born lucky.) But Zuko could figure this out. He had to if he wanted to go home. 

_Home_. That was the thought he kept getting stuck on. He _wanted_ to go home. And, as a loyal son and crown prince of the Fire Nation, it was his _duty_ to return home now that he had accomplished his mission... sort of. 

By all rights, Zuko should have set course for the Fire Nation after that first encounter with Aan– with _the airbender_. The only reason he hadn’t was because he’d been… unsure? Overwhelmed, perhaps? Maybe even a little scared. But apparently all it took was a fresh concussion (and another near-death experience to add to his steadily growing list) for him to recognize how stupid that was. Because it wasn’t too late, Zuko had realized. His father may have given up on him, but Zuko couldn’t afford to do the same. Not yet. 

Not when he could go home again, if he wanted to. 

And why shouldn’t he want to? His return to the capital would be a victory for the Fire Nation, wouldn’t it? Surely his father couldn’t fault him for failing to capture the avatar under the –ah– _circumstances_. 

Naturally, there was no reason to mention that it was Zuko who’d wrecked his ship and not the little airbender. He could just omit that particular part of the story… and also a few other parts. Namely the incident at Pohuai Stronghold. That whole night had been a fluke anyways, or perhaps a temporary lapse of sanity. Or a fever dream. 

There was no need to dwell on it, really. 

Besides, his return home should be met with celebration! The avatar may have been known as the Fire Nation’s greatest threat, but Zuko was loyal. He would _prove_ that he was, and his father would see that Zuko could be a powerful asset! 

Or at least, he could be if he knew what he was doing. He couldn’t exactly pick up an earthbending teacher at the nearest port. But he’d been gone for nearly three years now, and there was no way he was returning without anything to show for it. 

Zuko took a deep, steadying breath and resettled his focus. He relaxed into his stance, ready to try the move again. This time when he moved, the rock lifted up into the air, hovering just like it had the first time he’d tried earthbending. He shifted his arm and pushed the rock a little to the right, then a little to the left, then he spun his hand in a slow circle and the rock did the same. 

Zuko grinned. 

He wondered what else he could do. He’d only ever tried moving stones that were already loose, but he’d seen earthbenders pull chunks of rock straight from the ground, reshaping it to suit their needs. He didn’t have any other earth to work with right now, but maybe he could start by trying to split the rock apart? 

Unlike earth, fire was formless and easy to reshape, but it still required its own kind of stubbornness to wield properly. Though the forms were different, both elements required that the bender demonstrate a strong will. But where fire could be wild without control, earth simply remained unmoved. 

Zuko kept the rock suspended between his hands and slowly pulled his hands apart, concentrating on the way the earth felt in his control. He imagined it splitting, particles coming apart like gears disconnecting. Under his stubborn glare, the rock began to crack. 

Zuko jumped at the sudden screech of the wheel crank turning on his chamber door, followed by an undignified yelp as the rock went flying across the room and hit the wall with a thunderous clang. The door behind him creaked and Zuko scrambled for the rock on the floor, shoving it beneath his mattress just before his uncle stepped into the room. 

Zuko spun around to meet him, still awkwardly crouched on the floor. Zuko quickly crossed his arms and leaned back on his mattress in an effort to appear casually relaxed, but unfortunately it was further behind him than he’d anticipated and he ended up in more of an awkward slouch than a comfortable sprawl. Then, as his uncle stepped into view, Zuko hurried to sit up again and snapped, “Don’t you know how to knock?” 

Zuko quickly crossed his arms and leaned back towards his mattress in an effort to appear casually relaxed, but unfortunately it was further behind him than he’d anticipated For a moment Iroh just stood and blinked at his nephew, and Zuko suddenly found himself wondering how much eye contact was _too_ much eye contact. Was it obvious he was trying not to fidget? Or was _no_ fidgeting just as suspicious as _too much_ fidgeting? 

“My apologies, Nephew,” his uncle interrupted his internal crisis. “I merely came to ask if you would like to join me for dinner, but I can see that you’re – ah – _busy_.” Iroh cleared his throat uncomfortably, shifting his gaze around the room as though examining it for the first time. “I’ll, ah, leave you to it then,” he finished lamely, followed by a wince. 

Zuko frowned. “Uncle-” 

“There’s no need!” the man hurriedly assured him. “I was young once myself, after all,” he chuckled uneasily, still refusing to look directly at Zuko, and something horrible was beginning to dawn on him. 

Zuko gasped. “ _Uncle!_ ” His voice jumped an entire octave and Iroh winced again. “I- How could- I _wasn’t-_ ” 

“Have a pleasant evening, Prince Zuko!” 

And with that, the revered General Iroh, legendary Dragon of the West, turned tail and fled the room. 

Zuko leapt to his feet, but by the time he made it to the door his uncle had somehow already disappeared down the hall. 

Zuko let his head knock into the wall with a dull _thump_. 

Well. At least Uncle would remember to knock next time. 

* * *

_He cannot remember another time he was so happy. The air smells of sweet fire lilies, just like the ones he’d woven into her hair the day he’d proposed. The evening breeze jostles the lanterns that cast warm light over the courtyard, and the sounds of music and laughter fill the night._

_His best friend guides him away from the head table, but he knows Ta Min will be waiting for him when he returns, just as he waited for her during their year-long courtship. But his friend looks far too serious for such a wonderful night – as though this evening could be anything but wonderful._

_“Sozin, it’s my wedding!” Zuko laughs – and his voice sounds strange to his own ears – “Have a cookie, dance with someone! Lighten up!”_

_Sozin chuckles ruefully but remains insistent, and Zuko listens because if there is anyone he cares for as much as his young wife, then it is the man who stands before him._

_“Right from the start, I was destined to be Fire Lord,” he says, “and although we didn’t always know it, you were destined to be the avatar. It’s an amazing stroke of luck that we know each other so well, isn’t it? Together we could do… anything!” Zuko feels a seed of worry begin to grow in his mind, but does his best to dismiss it._

_“Yeah,” he says uneasily, “we could.”_

_Sozin speaks of their nation’s prosperity – their peace, their wealth, their knowledge – and Zuko can see evidence of their good fortune reflected in the party’s beautiful decorations, the abundance of food, and the full, smiling faces of their guests. “In our hands is the most successful empire in history,” Sozin says. “It’s time we expanded it!”_

_The words are like a slap in the face. “No,” Zuko says firmly, “the four nations are meant to be just that: four.”_

_“Roku, you haven’t even stopped to consider the possibilities—”_

_Who?_

_Zuko feels the world around him begin to warp and stretch, as though he were seeing it from underwater. But still, the face of the man before him is clear as day._

_“There are no possibilities,” Zuko hears himself say. “This is the last I want to hear about this.”_

_He turns away, furious with his friend’s arrogance, only to come to an abrupt halt when feels the smack to his face. He snarls and lunges at his assailant, but is held in place by thick chains. The lanterns beside him flare and catch fire, burning brighter and stretching higher until they take the form of elevated torches, between which Zuko’s attacker stands wreathed in the fire’s glow._

_“So this is the great avatar,” Zhao sneers. He gives Zuko a long, deliberate look from head to toe._

_Zuko’s arms are pulled away from his body, suspended between two pillars, and his feet are shackled to the floor. He can hardly move an inch, and he can feel the painful stretch in his shoulder blades._

_Zhao smirks and Zuko imagines ripping the man’s throat out._

_“Here he is, master of all four elements,” Zhao gloats. “Did you truly think you could hide from me?”_

_“Why should I hide from a coward like you!” Zuko spits. “Untie me and I’ll fight you right now!”_

_“Why waste my time?”_

_“I’ve beaten you once! I’ll do it again,” he snarls._

_Zhao’s expression sours momentarily before settling back into its usual appearance of arrogance and condescending amusement. The torchlight casts flickering shadows across his face, stretching his smile into something almost grotesque._

_“Tell me, your Highness,” he croons, “do you miss home? I’m sure your father will be delighted to see you again.”_

_Zuko feels his heart sink into his stomach._

_“Aw, don’t worry,” Zhao tuts in mock-sympathy. He reaches out to stroke Zuko’s temple – on his left side – and Zuko flinches away from the touch. “I’m sure the Fire Lord won’t kill you. After all, you would just be reborn and then the Fire Nation would have to start searching all over again. No, he’ll keep you alive—” Zhao’s smirk turns a few shades darker - “but just barely.”_

_Zuko snarls again and thrashes in his chains. He doesn’t want to be here again - can’t be here again. He escaped, he made it out. Agni, he shouldn’t be here!_

_“There is no escaping this fortress,” Zhao laughs before his face darkens once again, taking the form of something both monstrous and horribly familiar all at once, “and no one is coming to rescue you.”_

_Zuko lets out a furious roar and fire pours from his mouth. He trusts his body forward against his chains, but the movement overbalances him and he has to swing his arms out to steady himself as he finishes the kata. His final stance was a bit shaky from nerves, but he thinks it was still one of his best attempts so far. Zuko straightens and turns to his father._

_The Fire Lord watches on impassively, and for every moment he remains silent the knot in Zuko’s stomach curls tighter._

_“As you can see, your Majesty,” says the sage at the man’s side, “the prince has made some progress.”_

_“Some,” his father concedes, expression unchanging._

_Zuko fights to keep his posture straight. He’s panting from exertion and he feels too warm under the midday sun. The fire sage looks on with a cool expression, hands neatly folded behind his back, and though he wears the thick, formal robes reserved for traditional ceremonies and royal events, he doesn’t appear to sweat a drop. Zuko’s father remains equally unaffected, his heavy gaze still trained on his son. Zuko’s fingers twitch anxiously at his side and he has to resist the urge to relieve the agitation by shaking his arms out._

_“And Azula?” the Fire Lord speaks._

_“She has already advanced to the next level, your Majesty.”_

_Zuko feels his face burn. He finally averts his eyes from his father’s to look down at his feet, quietly willing the ground to open up and swallow him whole. His heart is pounding, though he’s not sure why._

_“And his other training?”_

_His other training? That’s odd, Zuko doesn’t remember this part._

_The sage’s expression sours. “He’s made no progress with his airbending or his earthbending, your Majesty. I don’t believe he’s really grasped the concept.”_

_Zuko’s head shot up. “I would if I had a proper teacher!” he snaps angrily. “How can you expect me to learn anything without a master to teach me?”_

_“And what is your excuse for your abysmal firebending?” his father demands, and Zuko feels his shoulders hunch on instinct, cowering from his father’s ire. “Your sister surpasses you in every way, and you still make excuses?”_

_The edges of his vision flicker. The fire sage is gone, though Zuko does not remember him leaving, and his father’s face grows oddly blurry the longer he looks at it._

_“That’s not fair! I know I can be of use, Father, if you would just—”_

_His father stands abruptly - and had he always been sitting? - and speaks in a voice that is harder than Zuko remembers it, less sinuous. “How dare you, a citizen of the Fire Nation, address your Fire Lord this way.”_

_And then it’s not his father speaking to him at all - it’s Sozin, his old friend, standing before the throne with his fists clenched at his sides. “Your loyalty,” he says severely, “is to our nation first. Anything less makes you a traitor.”_

_“Don’t do this, Sozin,” Zuko says – but no, that’s not quite right. That’s not what he thinks he meant to say. Why does everything feel so… so slippery? Like that feeling when you know you’ve forgotten something and it’s just on the tip of your tongue – like the world is solid around him and at the same time just barely out of reach. “Don’t challenge me. It will only end badly.”_

_His father towers above him and says, “You will learn respect—”_

_“It’s over,” Zuko tells Sozin._

_“-and suffering will be your teacher.”_

_Zuko turns to leave, but behind him he hears Sozin – the man who was supposed to be his dearest friend – let loose a powerful stream of fire._

_Wait, no, it’s his father – the man who was supposed to love him – and he’s stroking Zuko’s temple. On the left side. It’s gentle, almost a caress, and Zuko wants to lean into the affectionate touch, but he’s too busy sending a blast of air at Sozin, pinning him by the robe. Air whips around them, destroying the throne room, and the sound of the crumbling stone is deafening in his ears._

_But no – that’s the sound of the audience, screaming for his blood. Their voices echo in the dueling arena, creating a cacophony of sound so violent it shakes his whole body. Or maybe that’s his terrified crying, barely suppressed sobs wracking his small frame._

_Or maybe it’s the force of the wind beneath him, as he rises to speak to his old friend face to face. “I’m sparing you Sozin,” Zuko says with a stranger’s voice. “I’m letting you go in the name of our past friendship.”_

_His father’s hand moves from his temple to gently cup his cheek, and the gesture feels so paternal it makes something in Zuko’s chest squeeze._

_“But I warn you—”_

_“Please father,” Zuko whispers, too softly to be heard by the avid spectators._

_“-even a single step out of line will result in your permanent end.”_

_He doesn’t see the flame, but he senses its heat. Zuko feels the scream rip out of his throat before he hears it. His body has already gone still on the floor before he registers that the horrible sound ringing in his ears belongs to him._

Zuko jolted awake with a shout. 

He flinched violently as the candles in the room flared high enough to brush the ceiling. Then, as he heaved a desperate gasp of air, all the lights in the room were abruptly snuffed out, and Zuko was left panting and shivering alone in the dark. 

* * *

The next port town they visited was loud and bustling, the streets clouded by dust from all the foot traffic. Zuko had always preferred the neutral ports of the western colonies to the Fire Nation’s outposts. For one thing, he felt far less exposed among the diverse crowds than he did under the judgmental eyes of Fire Nation soldiers. His scar still drew attention, sure, but he could bear the curiosity and pity of strangers much more easily than the derisive sneers of men who knew exactly how he’d earned it. 

Besides, mixed ports always had the best rumors about possible spirit activity that could help him track the avatar. The Fire Navy rarely had any news that didn’t directly pertain to the war, and certainly none they were willing to share with the banished prince. 

(The Blue Spirit had been a minor thorn in their side long before the events at Pohuai Stronghold put a king’s bounty on his head. Zuko needed information, and if he occasionally had to break into the officers’ quarters to get it, then so be it.) 

It wasn’t information that Zuko was after on this particular trip, however. This was simply a supply run. The Fire Navy wasn’t nearly as inclined to haggle as common merchants were and, prince or not, Zuko had a budget to stick to. 

Zuko would normally be hurrying his uncle back to the ship instead of wandering the busy streets of the artisans' district, but this time he couldn’t seem to muster the energy to care. Zuko had jolted awake that morning long before sunrise, and though the details of his dream had already begun to fade, he never did manage to get back to sleep. 

It wasn’t the first time his dreams had been strange lately. He’d woken up several times in the last few weeks with the phantom sensation of wind in his hair or the echo of someone else’s screams ringing in his ear. He was certain his uncle had noticed, if the worried looks he kept shooting Zuko’s way were anything to go by. Zuko’s form had been sloppy in training, his heavy eyes were adorned by deep bags, and he knew he’d been spending far too much time in his room for someone who clearly wasn’t using that time to sleep. 

Even as exhausted as he was, there was only so long he could stand to listen to his uncle wax poetic about flower vases or tea cups or whatever he was on about this time, so when he spotted a weapons shop across the road, Zuko left his uncle diligently listening to a potter describe his work and ducked through the crowd. The weapons shop had everything from katanas to lances to a gleaming pair of nunchucks, but Zuko still had to force himself not to linger on the dao swords displayed proudly out front. He was glad the shopkeeper was already too busy speaking with another customer to bother him, going over the advantages of a finely carved bow in his hands. The smooth design reminded Zuko of the Yu Yan Archers and he suppressed a shudder before quickly moving on. 

He was just lifting a particularly wicked-looking pair of shuriken from their shelf when an enormous crash caused him to jump. He scrambled to put the knives back in their place without nicking himself before looking for the source of the crash. It didn’t look like anyone on the street was particularly alarmed by the sound, though a few of them glanced in the direction it came from before moving on. 

Zuko followed their gazes to a building a few shops down with a bright sign out front advertising earthbending lessons. _First session free for basic and intermediate level students!_ A high wall wrapped around the building, enclosing a small courtyard of cobbled stone. There were circular windows carved into the front wall through which he could see a young boy, probably about nine years old, and a gruff-looking man with his hands on the boy’s shoulders. 

The man gently nudged the boy’s legs further apart with his foot the same way Zuko’s uncle had adjusted his stances when he’d first taken over his training. Zuko paused to watch, unable to help his curiosity. He’d never seen real instruction from an earthbender before, but if this guy knew what he was doing then Zuko had definitely not been practicing proper forms in his room at night. _Knees further apart_ , he noted, _feet facing forward_. 

He watched as the boy squared his shoulders, face scrunching up in intense concentration. Then, in a swift movement, he stomped one foot forward and thrust his arm out, and the rock placed in front of him went flying. 

…and then missed its target by several feet, smashing into a stack of stone disks set off to the side. The resulting crash was loud enough to make Zuko wince. The boy grimaced and glanced up at the man sheepishly. 

“Did you angle your body towards your target?” the man asked in a voice that made it clear he already knew the answer. 

“Yes!” the boy snapped irritably. The man raised a single eyebrow but otherwise remained unmoved. Apparently realizing that this was all the response he was going to get, the boy’s shoulders hunched and he kicked mulishly at a pebble. “…no,” he conceded sullenly, and Zuko cringed in response. The fire sages would have smacked him upside the head for that kind of behavior. That or they’d have had him running the same set until sundown while his sister ran off to play with her friends because _she’d_ completed the set correctly the first time. 

“You’re focusing too much on the power of your thrust instead of your footwork,” the man explained calmly. “Strength is pointless if you’re not grounded first. Angle your foot towards your target.” 

The boy straightened and shifted back into his starting stance. Zuko could already see that it was wrong, though. His feet weren’t as wide apart as they had been when the man corrected them. The same mistake twice in a row? And this immediately after talking back to his teacher? Zuko felt a stab of sympathy for how sore the kid’s muscles were going to be by the time his teacher let him quit. 

The boy performed the move again, and this time the rock simply teetered back and forth a bit. His instructor didn’t look surprised. “Did you—” 

“I know!” the boy cried. “Footwork. I got it. I know.” 

Despite himself, Zuko felt his heartbeat pick up. He could already hear the harsh reprimand of _show some respect_ ringing in his ears, the sound so ingrained in his mind from his own training with the sages that he could already anticipate the reprimand in the man’s next words. 

“Then try again,” the man said calmly, and Zuko blinked. 

That… wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. 

The boy moved back into position. He shuffled his feet into a wider stance, squared his shoulders once again, and this time his thrust sent the rock hurtling forward, barely nicking the edge of the target before crashing to the ground. Better, but not quite good enough, Zuko noted. Which was a shame, considered how close he’d been. 

“I did it!” the boy cried. He leapt up and threw his arms around the man, who rubbed his knuckles into the crown of the boy’s head in retaliation, smiling fondly. “Ow, Dad! Stop!” The boy swatted at him as strong hands pulled him in tight, giggling all the while. 

Oh. 

“I knew you could,” the man – the boy’s _father_ – said warmly. 

_Oh._

Zuko’s heartbeat didn’t seem to be slowing down. 

He could hear his old teacher’s voice ringing in his head, _Close but not quite_ and _Perhaps with enough practice you might be able to begin training with your sister again_. 

_A lucky shot_ , his father’s voice joined the chorus. _You were lucky to be born_. 

The boy had begun to jump up and down, insisting that they “ _gotta go show Mom!_ ” and the man was laughing and suggesting that he run through the move a few more times first, and Zuko was standing at the window like a voyeur, barely able to discern their voices over the deafening sound of his own heartbeat thrumming in his ear. 

Zuko couldn’t imagine his own father praising him for getting something _almost_ right. He couldn’t imagine anyone doing so, for that matter. (Except perhaps his mother, but he hadn’t heard her voice in a long time now, and did it really matter how much she’d claimed to love him when she’d still left him anyway?) 

He knew things were different for the royal family. They had to be; their position was too important. But still, he’d been all over the world since his banishment and seen children in nearly every port and marketplace, clinging to their mothers' hands or carried in their fathers' arms, loved and wanted and precious, and it made him wonder. Yet Azula had never needed their mother’s comfort and protection – not the way Zuko did. Father didn’t need to be embarrassed of her or to worry about her delicate feelings. Even Uncle used to gush about how proud he was of Lu Ten in his letters home, and Zuko would pore over every single word. 

Maybe… maybe it was just him. 

Zuko had never been talented and smart like his sister, or charming and capable like Lu Ten. He always felt a bit wrong-footed around other people, but maybe it was more than that. Maybe there was something wrong about him that everyone else could see with little more than a glance, and if he could only figure out what it was then he could fix it. He could do better, if only he knew what it was he needed to change. Zuko felt like he’d spent his whole life trying to prove that he was _enough_. But maybe he could never be enough. 

Maybe he really was lucky to be born. 

He flinched hard when he felt a hand at his shoulder, twisting sharply to face the person who’d come up in his blind spot. He let his defensive stance drop when he saw it was only his uncle, but his heart still beat frantically in his chest. 

Iroh extracted his hand slowly but continued to regard his nephew with a furrowed brow. They both knew that Zuko should have noticed him sooner. He was always wary of his surroundings, especially in a crowded place like this, and _especially_ on his left side. 

Zuko felt a flash of embarrassment and tamped down his reflexive apology. “I was wondering when you’d get bored,” he grunted instead, though the words lacked their usual heat. 

His uncle’s inquisitive expression morphed into his usual carefree smile with too much speed to be anything but deliberate, but Zuko didn’t bother to look a gift ostrich-horse in the mouth. “Ah, Mr. Han is a fascinating man,” his uncle said fondly. “He has lived a very full life.” 

Zuko scowled. “Yes, I can’t imagine how thrilling the life of a poor potter must be.” Zuko turned his back on the father and son duo and started down the street without a looking back. “I’m hungry,” he declared. “Do you think there’s any halfway decent place to eat around here?” 

His uncle’s smile broadened. “Mr. Han recommended a friend’s steamed dumplings,” he said. And with that, Iroh tucked his arm into his nephew’s and began to tug him down the street. Zuko tried to express his usual token complaints, but he really was sick of stale navy rations. Besides, he could hear the tell-tale crashing noises of earthbending accompanied by boisterous cheering behind him, and he felt the sudden need to be just about anywhere else. 

And if his uncle laughed louder than he had in weeks when Zuko burned his tongue on a too-hot dumpling and spilled sauce down his front, well, neither of them felt the need to say anything about it. 

* * *

_The turtleduck eyes the floating breadcrumb dubiously, as though Zuko hadn’t fed them the same bread just yesterday. Just as it seems to have made up its mind, another turtleduck swoops in and pecks the crumb from the surface before quickly paddling away again, pursued by its sibling’s outraged quack._

_Zuko giggles as the two turtleducks chase each other around the pond and leans further into his mother’s side. Even as the days grow warmer, winter’s chill still lingers in the evenings, and his mother’s warmth is a welcome comfort. Above their heads, the leaves of the old oak tree rustle in the afternoon breeze, and his mother’s voice matches their gentle murmur. It’s the gentle cadence of her voice rather than the words themselves that Zuko basks in, as familiar to him as the sound of his own slow breathing._

_There’s so much to love about spring in the Fire Nation. The winter’s snow dusts the peaks along the edge of the caldera in which the capital city is nestled, and after the first thaw each year the slopes blanket themselves in red as the fire lilies bloom. Zuko thinks it’s like watching the world come back to life, and it feels a little easier to breathe as the sun rises earlier each morning. And as the sun dawdles in the sky in the evenings, he and his sister will sometimes run barefoot through the grass to chase the brightly glowing fire-dragonflies, cupping them in their hands and marveling at the light shining from between their fingers._

_But Zuko’s favorite part of spring is this right here – sitting with his mother as the evening sun cast a warm glow over the world and feeding the turtleducks._

_Zuko tears another piece of bread and ducks out from under his mother’s arm. He follows the turtleducks to the other side of the pond, but tossing the bread into the water startles the babies and Zuko pouts as they all flee across the pool again. He watches the chunk of bread grow soggy on the water’s surface, but as he looks into the water more closely he is met not by his own reflection, but by that of a young boy he’s never seen before._

_The boy stares back at him with wide, grey eyes, and though he looks to be about Zuko’s age, his head is as bald as a baby’s. His expression is strangely blank, but there’s something about his eyes that captivates Zuko – they seem to stare right through him, as though fixed on something far beyond his reach._

_Zuko tears his gaze away._

_“Mom!” Zuko cries. He runs back to where she sits under the tree and begins tugging on her robe impatiently. “Mom, come look! There’s a boy in the water!” Zuko leads her to the water’s edge, practically vibrating with excited energy. “Look!” he insists, “He’s there, I saw him!” But when Zuko looks again, the boy is gone._

_Instead, Zuko is met with his own reflection, face young and rosy and unmarked except for the familiar blue arrow that rests across his forehead. An airbender’s tattoo. Just like Aang’s._

_Zuko gasps and stumbles back from the water, but he hears a familiar giggle behind him and before he can move very far there are small hands at his back. And then he’s falling, careening towards the pond’s surface. His body sinks below the water, and Azula’s young laughter follows him down down into the murky depths. He wants to yell at her for pushing him again but he can’t catch his breath. He knows he must be drowning but it’s smoke that chokes his lungs, not water, and his eyes begin to stream as his breaths come only in short, dry gasps._

_From underwater, it looks like the world above the surface is burning, and the light from overhead casts his surroundings in bright, fiery oranges and reds. He thinks perhaps he can hear the distant sound of screaming, reflecting the same terror that he feels seize his chest, but it cannot be his own voice, choking as he is, and Zuko decides he must be imagining it._

_He swims as hard as he can, desperate to reach the surface, certain that something terrible is happening in the world above. He has to get there in time, he has to help them, he has to save his mother before she disappears. He’ll never see her again if he lets her go now like he let her go then, and the world is on fire and the sky is black with smoke and his chest burns with every heaving breath._

_Zuko reaches out, his fingertips barely a hair’s breadth away from skimming the water’s surface, and he’s almost made it, he’s almost there._

Zuko wakes with a call for his mother on his lips and the taste of ash on his tongue, and he doesn’t go back to sleep. 

* * *

Zuko had never felt quite as powerless as he did the day his mother disappeared. 

He didn’t know why she left, or where she’d gone, or why she hadn’t told him, and in the wake of his grandfather’s death nobody else seemed to care. Zuko tried to ask his father if he knew anything, if anyone was looking for her, but his father simply told him that she wasn’t coming back and that Zuko needed to stop behaving like a child. 

It was the first time in his life that his father told him to _stop_ and Zuko didn’t immediately heed his command. Instead, Zuko tried again and again, growing increasingly desperate and increasingly confused as no one was willing to offer him an explanation. 

Except Azula, that is. 

“Come on Zuko,” she’d scoffed. “You can’t really be this naïve, can you?” 

“I’m not surprised you’re not worried,” Zuko had snapped right back. “It’s not like you actually have _feelings_.” 

Azula narrowed her eyes at her brother before carefully schooling her expression into one of haughty disdain. “It’s not like it matters – she’s not coming back.” Azula sniffed derisively and turned on her heel to march back down the hall. “She’s probably dead anyway,” she tossed over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner. 

Zuko had felt lost for a long time in the wake of his mother’s disappearance. Throughout his childhood, his mother had always been his anchor, and now that his entire life had been upended in barely a few days she was just gone. 

In a palace full of servants, attended to nearly every hour of the day, the new crown prince had never felt so alone. 

And now Zuko was lying on the bed in his quarters, staring at his dao blades where they hung on the wall, and feeling just as alone as he had back then. 

Zuko’s fingers itched to wrap around the handles of his swords, but just their presence felt like a mocking reminder of that night at Pohuai Stronghold. Of what he’d done, what he may have ruined. It was funny, he thought, that the swords that had once offered him a deep sense of comfort now only seemed to taunt him. 

Zuko had first started training with swords after his mother’s disappearance. Whenever the pressure of his new title as heir would become too much, whenever Azula’s rapid progress would outshine his own, whenever the grief and the uncertainty and the anxiety would threaten to overwhelm him, Zuko would practice. He would stand out in the heat of the day with a sword in each hand, and his mind would settle with the steady motion of his practice forms – mind, body, and blade become one. 

And when he found himself unable to sleep through the night, as was often the case, he would get up and do the same thing under the light of the moon. 

Zuko had found himself a swordmaster in the city who either didn’t recognize him or was wise enough to pretend not to. He wasn’t a reputable man by any means, but Zuko didn’t want to be treated with the protective gloves of young royalty, and he certainly didn’t want his newest pastime to become a topic of discussion among the palace staff or – _Agni forbid_ – the nobility. Because surely the crown prince ought to focus on mastering his bending to bring honor to the royal family, not sneaking about town with seedy streetfighters! 

His father doubtlessly would have expressed his stern disapproval if he’d bothered to notice Zuko at all. As it was, the Fire Lord rarely bothered to check on his son and Zuko was left to his own devices whenever he wasn’t attending his firebending training or other royal lessons. Sneaking out of the palace was easy enough if he used the servants’ entrance, and if Zuko wanted to waste his time with silly knives, who cared? 

Swordplay had come easier to him than firebending ever had. Zuko still wasn’t sure if that was a result of natural inclination or if he simply enjoyed training without the kind of constant reproach he received from his bending instructors. Without the steady encouragement of his mother, his bending progress was always measured in comparison to his sister’s. 

Zuko would never admit how much of a relief it was when his uncle took over his training. Iroh had truly been his saving grace. 

Shortly after returning to the palace from his year-long stint travelling around who-knows-where, Iroh had stopped in on one of Zuko’s training sessions. Zuko hadn’t even noticed him there until he’d spoken up to correct his stance. The Fire Sage who’d been overseeing his training looked like he’d swallowed a whole mouthful of fireflakes at the interruption, but he clearly knew better than to contradict the Dragon of the West. When Zuko ran the sequence again with his uncle’s adjustment, he found that he was able to perform it much more smoothly. 

Zuko had absolutely _beamed_ and offered a grateful “Thank you, Uncle,” with perhaps too much sincerity to be entirely befitting of a prince. 

After that, Iroh began to pop in on Zuko’s training sessions semi-frequently. Sometimes he merely offered helpful advice or much-needed praise, but it didn’t take long before he was taking over entirely. 

“No no no,” he’d tutted impatiently at Zuko’s teacher, “that’s not right at all. He’ll be completely off balance. No, you have to shift your stance like _this_ —” And then he’d stepped right up to Zuko and guided his shoulders until they were better aligned with his body and nudged his leg with his foot until he adjusted that too. 

Yes, Iroh was a much better teacher. But it was more than that to Zuko; Somehow, Uncle Iroh was the one person who had never abandoned him. 

If Zuko was being honest, he could admit that he was still waiting for him to do so. 

Why, when every other teacher had grown impatient and declared him a lost cause, did Iroh continue to teach Zuko with such steady patience? Why, when no one could be bothered to take Zuko seriously, did his uncle recognize and respect his desire to improve and become a better leader? Why, when even his own father could not stand to be in his presence, did Iroh follow Zuko into his banishment? 

For so long, Zuko had tried to prepare himself for the day his uncle would leave him. Because it couldn’t hurt if he was expecting it, right? Zuko drove everyone else away without even trying – his sister, his mother, his father – so _why?_ When Zuko was certainly the worst nephew imaginable, called the man lazy and stupid, dragged him across the globe on a fruitless voyage, and did nearly everything in his power to push him away – why didn’t his uncle _leave_? 

Even now, Iroh stayed by his side. Zhao had come and taken his entire crew, offered his uncle a position of honor with his fleet, and Iroh had declined so that he could, what? Keep an eye on Zuko? Sit around on a ship that wouldn’t run without a crew and train his nephew for a mission that he would never complete? 

Zuko stared dully at his swords on the wall and wondered, not for the first time, if his uncle regretted his decision to leave with Zuko nearly three years ago. 

Iroh had gone for an evening walk along the shore. He’d tried to convince Zuko to go with him, and for a moment Zuko wondered. 

What if he told his uncle everything? There was no one else around. No crew to interrupt or soldiers to overhear. What would happen if Zuko came clean and told him about the bending, about the hiding, and about the little air nomad who wasn’t really the avatar at all? What would his uncle say? 

But Zuko hadn’t done any of that. At some point, he’d stopped trying to anticipate when his uncle would finally give up on him. But this? This was too much to ask anyone to understand – even Uncle Iroh. 

His uncle had gone on his walk alone and Zuko was sat on his bed, staring at his stupid swords in the dark. 

Who did Zuko think he was kidding, sneaking around behind his uncle’s back and practicing his earthbending behind closed doors? The Fire Nation’s greatest threat? As if! He was the Fire Nation’s greatest disappointment and everybody knew it. Even his uncle must have known it, though he seemed determined to ignore that fact. Zuko could barely match his younger sister’s skill with firebending and he expected to waltz into his father’s throne room and announce that he was an earthbender too? He’d be laughed out of the Fire Nation, if his father didn’t decide to teach him a lesson first. Having a son who could barely firebend was bad enough. A son who was too cowardly to face his punishment with honor was even worse. But a son who was… who was _this_? Well, his father had banished him for less. 

Suddenly the ship felt far too quiet. 

Zuko rose from his pallet and gave into the temptation to pull his swords down. He would just go up on the deck and run through a few forms, clear his head. No one was around to see him anyway. 

There was something unsettling about the empty ship that set Zuko’s teeth on edge. In the crew’s absence, he was painfully aware of every creak and groan of the metal. He’d never noticed how loud the flag was either, flapping in the breeze high above the deck, the Fire Nation insignia barely visible against the dark, overcast sky. 

Another ominous creek sounded from somewhere on the ship, and Zuko gripped the handles of his swords tighter. Something didn’t feel right. 

He thought for a moment that his uncle might have returned, but the gangplank was still lowered and he knew his uncle would have raised it behind him once he was back. It was one of those strange little paranoias of his, as if an assassin could be deterred by a lack of invitation. It was the same way Iroh never lowered his gaze when he bowed, or the way he always insisted Zuko wear his boots on deck, or the way he’d face him directly in private but always kept Zuko at his side or just behind his shoulder when they were in public together. The fearsome Dragon of the West was an old mother turtleduck. 

But if his uncle hadn’t returned, then why did Zuko feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up? 

There was an odd smell in the air. It was too faint to really be noticeable except that it grew stronger as Zuko neared the other side of the deck. What was— was that a trail of… slime? Ugh, if a sea slug had gotten below deck again Zuko was going to have to smoke the whole place out. Those things _stunk_. 

There was a loud screeching caw from Zuko’s side, and he whipped his head up to see a bird perched on the ship’s railing. The bird stared back at him with narrowed eyes as it ruffled its feathers, drawing Zuko’s attention to their familiar bright colors. But what would an iguana-parrot be doing all the way— 

Oh shit. 

The bird took off into the night with a screech and Zuko flung himself to the side of the ship. He had one arm braced on the railing when there was a concussive blast at his back. He had just enough time to think _At least it wasn’t my fault this time_ before he was flung from the deck of the ship. 

Zuko was out before he hit the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me on tumblr @ [lizard-business](https://lizard-business.tumblr.com/). My inbox is open & starved for attention.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's been so supportive of this story! I actually bumped the chapter count because I got inspired by some of your comments & needed to rearrange some stuff ;)


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